MILF Chronicles - Pantyhose

by Misti Love-Fitzpatrick

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© Copyright 2021 - Misti Love-Fitzpatrick - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; F/m+; fpov; milf; tease; denial; oral; sex; lingerie; bond; pantyhose; cuffs; foreplay; group; threesome; feet; climax; cuffs; costume; outdoors; roleplay; caught; facesit; cons; X

Continues from

Chapter Two

“What will our second night together bring, Carrie?” Ken asked.

“Well, Ken. The world is our oyster -- and you’re the pearl,” I replied, as I undid the wire cage holding the Champagne cork. Ken and I were lounging in the living room of my hotel suite. He fetched two flutes from the kitchen. I popped the cork.

“To us – and the momentous decision we need to make about tonight,” I said.

“Perfect toast, Carrie,” Ken said with a bright smile as I poured. We clinked glasses and I got up to open the drapes. The Las Vegas sunset was a riot of purple, yellow, navy blue, orange and powder blue.

I noticed my 21-year-old paramour admiring my lingerie in corsair blue: a sheer lace bra made from stretch lace and spot mesh; and a G-string that sat below my waist with a high cut leg line and a thong back. Ken and I sipped our Champagne.

“What do you think of the bubbly?” I asked.

“It doesn’t taste as good as you.”

I gave him my most coquettish smile, adding: “You’re such a good boy.”

“I love it when you call me that,” Ken said. “It’s so MILFy.”

“Does it turn you on to be with an older woman?”

“Yes, you’re my first,” he replied. “And I’m so lucky that my first is so beautiful and sensuous. You’re experienced and you know what you want – and how to get it.”

I asked him what he wanted. Ken hesitated before responding. I gathered his attention by slowly spreading my long legs, the lace trim of my G-string enhancing the glamour.

“I want you to get on your knees and suck my cock.”

I smiled enigmatically, positioning myself in front of him on the thick white carpet. This was a new Ken, a hint of a dominant possibly emerging. He slipped off his vintage suit jacket in black and dark blue checks. I removed his white T shirt with the low collar -- sleeveless, showing off his large biceps and muscular, shaved chest. I worked on his belt. His dark brown pants were tented, his big cock straining against the wool material. I unbuttoned the fly and his cock uncoiled when I pulled his blue boxer shorts down.

I had no intention of making him come. Hours earlier, I had mapped out my general plan to tease and train him with denial. I planted kisses along his light brown shaft and ran my right index finger from his balls, heavy with semen, to his dick slit. I used my tongue to enjoy his length. With my right hand, I took his cockhead into my mouth and sucked for ten seconds or so – then repeated my kissing, licking and touching. I had picked the glossiest lipstick that I could find, leaving deep crimson smudges over his throbbing cockhead.

“What is it about you and younger men?” Ken managed to say.

“Don’t you think this answers your question?” I responded, looking up into his dark eyes. “Everything about you pleasures me. Your stamina is beyond fucking belief.” I had to squeeze the base of his cock several times to prevent him from ejaculating. I edged him more before delivering the bad news.

“It’s not time for you to come yet. The night is young,” I said. He frowned when I pulled his boxer shorts up into place.

“Ken, could you do me a favor?”

He flashed me a look of sullen discontent.

“Would you mind getting me a pair of pantyhose from the bedroom? They’re in the top drawer of the dresser.” He nodded and returned dutifully with a small black and white package. I took out a pair of white gloves, soft and smooth, from my clutch. He asked why I would wear gloves.

“Same reason I keep my toenails and fingernails filed and smooth; to prevent any runs or snags,” I said.

The small box contained a pair of my favorite brand of pantyhose. Luxurious is the first adjective that comes to mind. Ultra-smooth and ultra-shine are the second and third adjectives. Premium hosiery is priceless, especially when it’s designed by a woman.

“I’ll let you watch me put this pair of pantyhose on with one proviso.” I told Ken. “You cannot move from that couch.” I sat in the chair across from where he was on the couch, a coffee table between us. “Do we have a deal?”

“Are you going to tie me up?” he asked.

“Not tonight, but if you move, I’ll discipline you by spanking that sexy bottom of yours.”

“We have a deal, although being spanked by you doesn’t sound like a bad punishment. Are these the same style of pantyhose as last night?” he asked.

“Similar, but different. You’ll understand how soon. But don’t forget our deal.”

Ken nodded. It didn’t appear he was still mad or disappointed because I cut off his blowjob. His face masked his emotions. That would not last long.

I rolled the pantyhose all the way down with my hands and then rolled them up over my heel, calf and thigh. I gently pulled them to my waist. Ten denier with a glossy shine, the pantyhose were crotchless – the difference from the pair I had worn the previous night.

“Naughty,” Ken said. He remained motionless. A lustful gaze replaced his blank expression.

“I was thinking ‘convenient,’ especially important around a horny and hung young gentleman like you,” I replied. “Are you hungry, baby?”

Ken moved slightly. I raised my right leg as a reminder of our deal. For a second, I thought I’d have to retrieve my black leather paddle from my pink suitcase.

“I was talking about food, not you licking my pussy. I’m famished, and I thought we’d talk about what to do tonight over dinner,” I said.

He frowned. I secretly enjoyed his reaction. I told him I’d get dressed and asked if he would make a dinner reservation for us. He was non-verbal.

He’ll get over it. When he sees this very short skirt, his mood will brighten. I need to train him to always think with his cock and not with his brain.

Returning to the living room to model my outfit, I watched his jaw drop. I wore a skintight black latex miniskirt and a violet blouse with spaghetti straps. I had changed my bra to a strapless sheer one, also in violet. My black patent leather pumps had a pointed toe and a 120 mm (4.75 inches) stiletto heel. Of course, I wore the crotchless pantyhose I had just put on. I gave my G-string the night off.

I asked Ken if he liked the skirt, which I said had the shortest hem I had ever worn.

“I don’t think I can resist,” he said.

“Well, resist you must,” I replied, grabbing my white leather clutch. “Where are we going for dinner?”

“It’s a new place over at the casino across the street. We can walk.”

I will plead guilty to having a deep exhibitionist streak. I like to show off and love being watched, by both men and pretty women. As a 40-year-old business executive and mom of two teenagers, I don’t have many opportunities – well, almost none -- to pursue this kink. It’s among the dozens of reasons why my best friend, Kelsey, and I booked the long weekend in Vegas. You can wear things in Sin City that you can’t, say, in Salt Lake City.

From the moment I walked out of my suite with Ken, the male gaze was in its full glory. My latex skirt made heads turn, move up and down and even spin like a top. The objectification wasn’t subtle and I loved it. Part of it was the powerful fetish of latex. The other part was the leg show I was performing. 

As Ken and I walked out of our hotel into a refreshing breeze, an older man approached me. He looked about 55, with short grey hair and hazel eyes. Tall and trim, he wore a well-tailored, expensive black suit.

“Excuse me Miss, I just wanted to compliment you on your outfit,” he said in an urbane English accent. “Not many women can pull off latex. It’s unforgiving. You need a perfect body. You have it. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.”

As I thanked him, I watched his eyes pan from my stiletto-heel pumps to the diamond necklace I wore. The man ignored Ken, who told him we had dinner reservations and had to go. The Englishman smirked as Ken gently steered me away.

“I suppose you’re used to this,” Ken said, placing his arm around my waist as we arrived at the large casino and made our way to the restaurant.

“It goes with the territory, you know. He was harmless, just an old-school admirer. I know it’s politically incorrect these days. I hope it doesn’t bother you.”

Ken said it didn’t, but I sensed he felt a pang of jealousy. He kissed me fully as we waited to be seated. His hand brushed against the latex covering my ass like a second skin and stayed there for a minute, as he made a point about something I can’t recall. A twenty-something woman also waiting for a table glowered at us. I wondered if it was due to our public display of affection or the gap in my age from Ken’s. Either way, I didn’t give a fuck. At my request, the hostess seated us where no other customers were around so Ken and I could have some privacy.

As Ken ordered a bottle of Opus One from 2016, a text arrived from my husband, Kevin, who had arrived in Dublin for a two-week business trip. 

<Carrie, I miss you so much. I hope you’re having fun in Vegas. Did you and Kelsey find guys to enjoy?>

I excused myself, telling Ken I needed to go to the ladies’ room. I stood in a stall and texted.

<Miss you too, baby. Enjoying myself. I really needed this weekend. Thank you for being so supportive. I met a 21-year-old guy. Really cute and nice and respectful. Can’t wait to see you. Hope your business trip is going well>

<It is. I hope your boy-toy appreciates how lucky he is to be with a sexy MILF like you>

I wrote that the sex was hotter than the desert, deleted it (too much info!) and typed a new text. 

<He does. Can’t wait to see you too>

On the way back to the table, I smiled to myself.

Lord, it’s great to be a sybarite.

After the waiter poured the wine, I slipped off my right pump. My pantyhose-clad foot lifted the hem of Ken’s trousers and found the skin above his sock. The table was small enough for me to lean forward and whisper in his ear.

“Ken, when I play footsy, I fantasize about giving a mind-blowing foot job. Like last night, when you shot all of your hot seed all over my foot.”

“Carrie, you have such a dirty mind.”

“Really?” I whispered in surprise. “More than other girls?”

“Much more,” Ken said. “Perhaps you should open a MILF Academy to train younger girls in the art of seduction.”

“Well, if I do, here’s an activity I’ll suggest.”

I handed him some pink string.

“I want you to take it into the men’s room, go into a stall, tie it around the base of your cock and loop it up so a small section is under your belt.”

“There goes that dirty mind again. Why?” he asked.

“So I can tug on the string when I want to. Be a good boy and go now.”

When he returned, I saw he had followed my instructions perfectly.

“Guys who wear pink are secure in their masculinity,” I said. We shared a laugh. For appetizers, he ordered pork belly lettuce wraps and I picked raw west coast oysters.

“Was there a moment last night when you lost control?” I asked.

“When you lowered your pussy to my mouth. The intoxicating scent. The overwhelming wetness of your gusset. You saying you wanted to come on my face. Until that moment, you had dictated everything. I thought my head was going to explode from the anticipation. Then, in a flash, I saw that my ultimate fate was licking your clit until you came.”

The waiter arrived with the appetizers. When he left, I whispered: “I want to come over there and pull that big cock out of your pants, and mount you in my crotchless pantyhose while you lower my bra and suck on my nipples.”

“Should we go back to your suite? We can take the wine with us.”

I grinned and shook my head no.

“I need food. What do you want to do after dinner?” I asked.

“Well, I picked the K-pop show last night. You pick tonight.”

We ordered entrees and I asked Ken about his plans after the long weekend ended. He said he’d be returning with his friend, Thomas, to Chicago to finish off the semester. Ken said he planned to go to grad school and hopefully work on Wall Street. We skipped dessert and like the night before, we strolled through the casino-hotel.

Ken opened a ballroom door and spotted a small conference room, which he discovered he could lock. 

“Important business meeting starting soon?” I asked. He responded by French kissing me before working his way to my neck. He made quick work of my violet blouse, slipping the spaghetti straps off my shoulders and lifting it over my head. He unhooked my strapless bra like an old pro. He lifted me onto the conference room table, the position of his body spreading my long legs encased in nylon and spandex. The pantyhose shimmered in the light.

He began to ravish me, his tongue slow and determined to lick lazy circles around my erect nipples. He took my right breast into his mouth and sucked. I felt his right hand find the back zipper he needed to unpeel my latex skirt.

This is way off-script. I planned to tease and deny him tonight. He’s going to penetrate and fuck me senseless right here and right now if I don’t do something fast.

“Get on your knees, Ken.”

He hesitated slightly, but obeyed, as I knew he would. Sitting on the edge of the conference table, I kicked off my pumps and offered him my left foot. He inhaled the scent of my pantyhose and kissed the arch, moving to suck each of my toes and then taking my foot into his greedy mouth.

“You can’t get enough, can you, Ken?”

“No, I’m insatiable because of you. You are the mother I’d like to fuck.”

“But not now, Ken.”

We heard voices from the ballroom. I didn’t need to find an excuse to cut things short. After putting my bra and blouse back on, I consoled Ken, running my fingers through his long, thick, jet-black hair. He looked like a little boy whose mother had taken away his bag of candy.

“Carrie, you’re driving me insane.”

“All we need is a little patience,” I said, quoting the Guns N’ Rose song. He didn’t get it, of course. He wasn’t even born when the song came out. We exited the conference room. Elderly couples were filing into the ballroom for some sort of banquet. Some of the old ladies gave me the “bad slut” look when they saw my short skirt and long legs.

Ken asked if I had decided what we would do now.

“Showgirls. The show starts in ten minutes,” I replied, flashing the pair of tickets in his face.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not,” I said, trying to keep a straight face and failing.

Ken said: “Let’s recap. In your suite, you sucked my cock and I didn’t get to come. You’re parading around the Strip in crotchless pantyhose and a latex micro-mini skirt. I’ve ravished those big tits of yours without getting to fuck you. And now you want me to watch some of the hottest women in the world perform? My cock has its limits.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Ken. Last night proved your dick is limitless. I’m betting, pun intended, it won’t be any different tonight.”

We sat, of course, in the front row – a sensory overload of long, thick false eyelashes; bright red lipstick, fishnet stockings, high heels, long legs, G-string bottoms, rhinestone-encrusted bras and huge headdresses. The Vegas showgirls danced with elegance and class, their beautiful faces alluring. Their demeanor gave the impression that they were unattainable.

About halfway through the performance, I subtly reached over and pulled on the pink string looped under his belt and attached to the base of cock. He smiled and nodded, acknowledging his immense erection.

Is this guy ever not hard? 

When the show was over, Ken said he loved it. We walked leisurely into the casino and stopped at the blackjack tables. It was Ken’s turn to choose the final bet of the night. He clearly had been thinking about his decision.

“If I win $10,000 at the blackjack table, I get to choose what happens in the bedroom. If I fall short, you choose for a second night. Deal?” he asked me. I knew nothing about blackjack, but I thought the odds of Ken winning 10-grand were steep.

“It’s a deal. Feeling lucky, young man?” I asked.

Ken sat at the table and placed twenty $100 bills on the green felt. A pit boss verified the amount and the dealer pushed the chips toward Ken. I stood to his right, the Bond girl backing her man. As I scanned the table, I noticed the man with the English accent who had complimented me on my latex skirt. He winked as our eyes met.

I watched Ken place a $1,000 bet. The first card was a ten-value card, the second an ace. The dealer couldn’t match it.


The dealer pushed chips totaling $1,500 to Ken, who squeezed my hand. The cards were swept up and another round began. Naturally, Ken could not duplicate that first round. He won some, lost some, and after an hour I thought I might actually win this wager. But Ken went on a roll. When he “doubled down,” (I had no idea what that was), he won a huge payout. Cashing in his chips, he whispered $20,000 in my ear.

Ken wins! What will he choose?

We were alone in the elevator to my suite and I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. I slipped my hands down the back of his pants and caressed his ass through his boxer briefs.

If I don’t get myself under control, I’m going to take Ken to the bedroom and mount his hard cock. And if that happens, we’ll spend the rest of the night fucking. Get a grip, Carrie.

As we walked into the suite, I asked: “What are you going to do with me, Ken?”

It sounded so noir, over-the-top femme fatale. He smiled mischievously as we sat on the living room couch. “Do you want to make another selection from the list?” I asked, handing him the paper and a pencil.

  1. silk stockings
  2. pantyhose (part 2)
  3. latex
  4. fishnet stockings
  5. leather
  6. spandex
  7. other

It was Ken’s turn to tease, to turn the tables with a wide grin. He dithered for a few minutes, then circled both b) pantyhose part 2 and c) latex, writing an asterisk next to his latter choice.

“What’s with the asterisk?” I asked.

“I have a fantasy attached to latex.”

I said I wanted to hear it.

“I’m driving and get pulled over for speeding. But there’s no burly, old male cop getting out of the police car. It’s a sexy female officer in black latex,” he said.

I smiled. I had role-played numerous times with my husband, but the “sexy cop” was not among them.

“That’s a very hot fantasy,” I said. “Are you sure you’re not the one with the dirtier mind?”

“I thought we’d play here in the bedroom,” Ken said.

I paused. “Wouldn’t it be more fun IRL?” using tech slang for “in real life.”

Ken asked how we would do that. I said “carefully.” We laughed and I told him I’d take care of the details. It was a little past 11 p.m. Ken had told me that he and Thomas wanted to grab a beer with two older friends who were in town. That worked perfectly because I wanted to check in with Kelsey and develop my sexy cop plan.

I texted her:

<How are you, girlfriend? Did your Bash Brother make your dreams come true?>

It didn’t take long for her response.

<Does the image of a jackhammer give you a clue?”>

Kelsey had given me a spare key to her room. I said I’d be down in a few minutes. I asked Ken if we could reconvene at 1 a.m. We kissed and he headed for the bar. I made my way to Kelsey’s room. I followed a trail left on the floor – a bodycon dress and thigh-high black leather boots near the door, black lace panties in the front hallway, a matching bra on the kitchen counter, and one gold earring on the carpet by the bed.

Kelsey flashed me a Cheshire grin when I found her in the king-size bed.

“You and Thomas must have been in a rush,” I said.

“God, yes,” she replied. “Thomas is so strong. He picked me up and fucked me as he stood. He fucked me so hard one of my earrings came off. That was the start of the night.”

Kelsey rested on her side, a black silk sheet covering most of her body. She wasn’t wearing mascara and she didn’t need any. We often did our weekly phone calls – which often were marathons – on Zoom. I hadn’t seen her inner glow like this since, well, the last time we were in Vegas to meet young guys. I worried about her marriage to a conservative businessman, but I quickly put that gloomy thought out of my mind.

She asked about Ken.

“Everything I hoped he would be; romantic and sexy,” I said.

I confided in Kelsey about Ken’s latex cop fantasy, saying he wanted to roleplay in the bedroom and I countered with doing it outside.

“More exciting that way, just don’t get caught. You don’t want to spend the night in the pokey,” she said.

“Yes, that’s true. I asked if I could use her laptop to do some research. I called up Las Vegas on Google maps and dialed the maître d'.

“Hi. I’m staying in Suite 3469. My boyfriend and I are looking to get out into the country, you know, the middle of nowhere; spend some time away from the big city.”

Kelsey tried hard not to laugh. The maître d' mentioned several towns. Mulling it over, he recommended one that’s a two-hour drive from Vegas with a population of 282. I won’t use its real name. Let’s call it Mayberry.

“It’s about as close to a ghost town as you’ll get,” he said.

I emailed myself the directions to Mayberry. The next task, as I had expected, was easy and that was finding a costume store open 24/7. After all, we’re talking Vegas.

“I brought latex with me in my pink suitcase, but obviously not a cop costume,” I told Kelsey.

“First-world problems,” she replied with a sly smile.

I called three stores and checked their websites. I chose the store with the highest-quality sexy cop costumes. Kelsey joined me on the shopping spree and helped me choose among dozens of styles. I returned to my suite a few minutes past 1 a.m. I kissed Ken and asked if he and Thomas had fun with their friends.

“It was great to catch up. I see you went shopping,” he said, pointing to my bag.

“Yes, I need to change. And no, you can’t watch. So, I’m going to borrow Kelsey’s rental,” I continued. “It’s a black SUV. Here’s the license plate.” Ken wrote it down.

“Are you sure we should do this?” he asked. 

“Don’t worry, honey,” I said. I explained where we were going and quoted what the maitre d’ had told me about how remote the “ghost town” was. I told Ken we’d stop in the middle of nowhere, ten miles past the tiny town, Mayberry.

Ken said he had borrowed a red 1959 Cadillac convertible from one of his friends. I pointed out roughly the area where the traffic stop would occur. “I’ll flash my high beams three times behind you,” I said.

Fortunately, I had brought a long, black coat with me to Vegas. I waited for Kelsey’s black SUV at the valet parking stand. It resembled an unmarked police vehicle. As I got onto the interstate, I checked the time and the mileage on the speedometer. For the first time, I began to have some second thoughts about my plan.

What the fuck am I doing? I’ve never role-played outside. Is the thrill worth the risk? 

I tamped down those fears. After an hour of driving, I spotted the exit for the rural two-lane road. I stopped at an abandoned rest step and placed my coat in the trunk. I put on my black police officer’s hat, which featured a silver badge.

Vegas was far behind me. It was a cool night, about 65 degrees, the cloudy sky a dark shade of grey. I gunned the SUV’s engine, knowing I needed to make up some time. The jitters had given way to anticipation, the excitement of playing out a fantasy that turned on my new boyfriend. In two hours on the rural two-lane road, I had seen only three cars on the remote roadway. The fourth was a red 1959 Cadillac convertible.

As I approached Ken’s vehicle, he sped up. It was a straight stretch of roadway, with the Black Mountains looming in the distance. He accelerated from 70 mph to 110 mph. Keeping up with him, I flashed my high beams three times and he pulled over. I waited a minute or so and walked to the driver’s side. He rolled the window down.

“Driver’s license and registration,” I said.

Ken fumbled in the glove compartment for the registration. It was not there. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed me his license.

“I apologize, Officer. I can’t locate the registration.”

“I’ll be back soon,” I told him.

I walked back to the SUV and waited five minutes, the time it usually takes an officer to check the computer for any outstanding warrants. When I returned, I asked Ken if he knew why I had pulled him over.


“Yes, Mr. Smith. You were travelling 100 mph in an area where the speed limit is 60 and it’s posted on multiple signs. I saw you have several speeding violations in multiple states. Can I ask where you’re going?”

“To a bachelor party in Denver.”

“Mr. Smith. I’m going to ask you to step out of the car.”

Ken followed my orders. I motioned for him to turn around.

“I’m placing you under arrest, Mr. Smith.”

He asked why. I didn’t respond and he repeated the question. Gathering his wrists behind his back, I slapped the metal handcuffs on.

“Why are you arresting me, Officer?”

“Driving at a rate of 100 mph or higher is a criminal offense in the state of Nevada. It’s not just a speeding ticket. I have placed you under arrest for suspicion of racing, reckless/careless driving, and exhibition of speed. If convicted, you could face jail time; have your license revoked, suspended, and your car impounded. I’m transporting you to the county jail.”

“Officer, I’ll miss the bachelor party,” he said.

“That’s not my concern, Mr. Smith.”

I said I needed to read him his rights. I led him to the back seat of the convertible and helped him sit, since he was cuffed.

“Officer, is there a reason why you have electrical tape over your metal name tag?”

I smiled. “I don’t want you to know my name.”

Ken asked why.

“Because I’m a dirty cop.”

Ken said he had $20,000 in his wallet, his winnings from blackjack. I took his wallet out of his pocket and checked – 20 bills featuring President Grover Alexander. I took the money and tucked his wallet back into his pocket.

“I’m interested in more than money,” I said. He asked what else interested me.

My costume consisted of a low-cut black latex bra with a strap around my neck, a black leather utility belt with a fake gun, a nightstick, a small container of Mace, and a police badge on the front; and opera-length black latex gloves. I wore the ultra-short black latex miniskirt, the crotchless beige pantyhose and the black stiletto-heel pumps I had put on earlier that night.

Moving my latex glove from his pants pocket, I stroked his growing bulge

“This is what interests me. You can avoid jail time by working this off, but you better be good or I’ll throw your ass in jail and throw away the key,” I told Ken. “Suck on my nipples.”

Still handcuffed, Ken licked a line from my neck to my cleavage. I lowered the latex so he could take my right nipple, and then the left, in his mouth. I felt my large breasts swelling, the points so hard and needy for his lips and tongue. I pressed my tits together for him and watched as he took as much as he could in his mouth, alternating his sucking as I sighed.

I took off his belt, his pants and his briefs – tossing them out of the car. They landed on the pavement at the edge of the roadway. I removed my bra and dropped it behind me, on the front seat.

Mounting his body, I positioned myself, grasped his cock with my hand and guided it inside my pussy. The muscles of my vagina clenched as I felt the erotic pain when his thick shaft entered me. The pleasurable pain soon receded, replaced with pure bliss as I moved my hips slowly, fucking him with a steady rhythm as the inky darkness enveloped us.

We had fucked for a while when we heard the vehicle. It pulled onto the two-lane roadway about 100 feet away and parked behind us. A cop car with a quiet engine and an officer who didn’t use a siren, flashing lights, or even headlights. The officer exited and swiftly walked toward us. It happened so fast. I pulled Ken’s cock out of my pussy and sat next to him.

Oh fuck. This is bad, really bad.

“What do we have here?” the officer said brusquely.

The cop was 25 years old, about 6’5” and 220 pounds. Of course, I didn’t know those details until much later. All I knew in the moment was a young and very big policeman with short black hair had stumbled upon us and we were in deep shit. I felt the fear grow in the pit of my stomach.

Ken and I were speechless. I covered my breasts with my long latex gloves.

“Lemme guess,” the officer said. “You came here from Vegas and this is your sexy cop roleplay.”

I nodded yes.

“Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner,” the officer said sarcastically. “Ma’am, I need you to put on whatever top you were wearing and then I’ll take a look at your driver’s license.” The officer turned his head as I retrieved my latex bra. I fished my license out of my clutch.

“I need to run your name through the computer. Follow me.”

My stiletto heels clicked loudly on the pavement. I sat in the passenger seat of the police car as the officer typed into his small computer on the dashboard. He wasn’t wearing a nametag.

“I was on my way home after my shift,” he explained. “So why would a beautiful redhead from L.A. come to Bumfuck County, Nevada at 3 a.m., when you could roleplay the sexy latex cop in your hotel room with your husband?”

“He’s not my husband. He’s my boyfriend. It was my idea to do this outside, not his, Officer. I don’t want to get him into any trouble. He’s a college student.”

My mind was racing. Glancing at the back of Ken’s head where he sat in the Cadillac, I wondered how mad he would be at me. The officer asked if I had noticed the large bag of cannabis on the front seat of the car Ken was driving. I said I had not.

Holy shit, this is going from bad to worse.

I didn’t want to cry, but I couldn’t avoid it. The officer waited for me to compose myself.

“Ms. Williams, cannabis remains illegal in Nevada and your male friend possesses enough for a felony charge. Yourself, you are looking at indecent exposure, which is a gross misdemeanor punishable by up to 364 days in jail and a fine up to $2,000,” he said.

The officer said he needed to talk to Ken. I gave him the key to the handcuffs and remained in the police car. I watched as the officer removed Ken from the back seat of the Cadillac, took off the cuffs, and frisked him. They talked by the side of the Cadillac for several minutes.

Ken texted me.

< Are you OK, Carrie?>

<Yes, I’m so sorry, Ken. I shouldn’t have suggested this. You warned me and so did Kelsey. I’ve really fucked up this time>

<I’m the one who fucked up, Carrie. I bought the pot from my friend. The officer lives about a mile from here. He has invited us to go to his place and said he might be able to make all of this go away. He asked me if I would share my girlfriend with him>

I didn’t know what to say. Ken sent another text.

<Will you do that for me, Carrie?>

<Of course, Ken. I’ll do anything for you>

The officer gave Ken his address and directions. I followed Ken in the SUV. Soon, I arrived at an unpaved driveway. We drove about a mile, to a large hill with a small two-story white house. We parked as the officer arrived. The neatly-decorated house consisted of a living room, kitchen, dining room and two bedrooms upstairs.

In the kitchen, the officer poured three glasses of bourbon. Ken and I sipped ours as the officer put his gun into a cabinet and locked it. 

“Where did you get that costume?” the officer asked me, his demeanor friendly. 

“At a shop in Vegas, open 24/7.”

“Well, our department has a female cop, but I don’t think that would fit her. She weighs more than 300 pounds,” he said with a laugh. “It looks great on you, though. 

“You won’t remember this house or me,” he continued. “And I won’t remember I ever met you. Do we have an agreement?”

“We do,” Ken replied. I nodded my approval.

The officer pulled a chair from the kitchen table, placed it in the corner and told Ken to sit there.

“Ms. Williams,” the officer began.

“Carrie,” I said.

“Carrie, I told your boyfriend that I would rather have sex with you than give you an arrest record. Do I have your consent? I won’t do anything without it.”

Nervously biting my lip, I said he had my consent. It was the moment when I realized this really was going to happen. I was going to have sex with a man so me and my boyfriend would not be arrested. It wasn’t quite an out-of-body experience – me looking down at myself, the sex worker. But it definitely felt surreal. Our roleplay had come to life, but I wasn’t the dirty cop in charge. Deep anxiety mixed with undeniable excitement.

Fear of the unknown – and the potential pleasure of the unknown making my pussy wet.

The officer told me to sit on the kitchen table. I handed him the sole item on the table, a glass container of sugar.

“I could use some sweetness in my life,” he said with a smile.

“You’re trembling,” he said, and I nodded.

“You have nothing to worry about, Carrie. If we had met earlier tonight at a honky-tonk and line-danced for a few hours, I think we’d be at the same juncture as now.”

My biggest concern was there would be no foreplay, that this would be a fast fuck – but that worry faded fast. The officer kissed me softly on the lips and took off my police officer hat. Tall and strong, he wrapped his arms around my neck, hugging me tightly as we kissed and he played with my dark-red hair. I placed my hands on his back, my first touch of his powerful body. His kisses were long, his big hands running over my opera-length black latex gloves. I reached up and touched his utility belt, which had held his service revolver.

“I’ll help you with that – and also yours,” he said, eliciting a smile from me. “Your costume is very realistic. I like the attention to detail,” the officer added, pointing to the plastic gun and nightstick on my utility belt. He placed the belts on the floor.

He kissed me deeper. His kisses moved to my cleavage, to my waist and to the top of my latex miniskirt. He pulled up the skirt slightly and kissed the seam of my pantyhose from the waistband to the spot right above my pussy, available to him from the crotchless style. The officer withheld his touch from my sex, though, lowering himself to his knees. I felt his right hand around my left ankle, his index finger lightly caressing the nylon and spandex material. I watched him kiss the pointed toe of the black patent leather pump on my left foot.

“I hope you like it nice and slow,” he said.

“I do, Officer.”

He kissed and licked his way to the heel. I dangled, giving him access to the pantyhose covering my arch. He looked up at me, his dark eyes gleaming as he sowed small kisses while licking my foot. I could see that his dark blue uniform pants barely could contain his erection, giving me a preview of his size. I reached down and put my pump back into place.

“Suck the heel,” I whispered.

The officer wrapped his lips around the tip of the 120 mm (4.75 inches) stiletto heel, gradually took the rest of it into his mouth and began to suck. “Oh fuck, keep going,” I sighed. In the corner of the kitchen, Ken removed his cock from his pants. I assumed the officer was cucking him.

Life is full of surprises, including a 25-year-old cop sucking on your high heel. The sight thrilled me. Earlier, when I had ordered Ken to tie the pink string around his cock, I had told him guys who wear pink are secure in their masculinity. So are guys who suck stilettos. After finishing my left pump, the officer sucked the other heel and asked if he could take my pumps off. I said he could.

“You have amazing toes,” he said. “Your French pedicure is perfect.” I thanked him.

The officer held my left foot as he took my pantyhose-covered toes into his mouth; first a few, licking and kissing them, sucking. Soon, he took all of them between his lips.

“Do you like having my foot in your mouth?” I asked.

He murmured yes, not stopping his foot worship. I lowered my right foot to his crotch and rubbed. His erection looked painful, the tip pointed in my direction and the shaft straining against his pants. I moved my foot up and down along the outline of his cock, stopping at the tip and increasing the pressure. I placed my foot in front of his face, spreading my toes, and heard him groan slightly. I knew foot fetishists loved that sight. He slid his left hand up my calf, to my knee and back, caressing the shiny pantyhose.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he suggested. He took my hand and told Ken to follow us. The officer led us up the stairs to a bedroom at the end of the hallway. It was large but spartan; a wooden canopy bed, a nightstand with a pile of erotica books, and an antique dresser drawer.

The dark grey clouds had cleared. A crescent moon gave us all the light we needed. The officer told Ken that he could join us in the bed. I told the officer to rest on his back. I straddled his body in a 69 position, lowering my pussy to his mouth. I unzipped his pants, freeing his cock. It was a monster like Ken’s, long and thick.

As the officer’s tongue met my wet pussy, I leaned forward – my knees touching his arms – and stroked his shaft. Shifting back, I unbuttoned his uniform shirt. I ran my hands over his muscular chest covered with black hair. His tongue luxuriated in my juices. I moved my hips to increase the pace. 

Leaning forward again, I took his cock into my mouth, not knowing how much I could take. Ken moved closer to us, finding the hidden zipper in the back of my latex bra and the swan hook. He touched my nipples, which ached from desire. I was overjoyed this would be a menage a trois.

“Right there,” I told the officer as his tongue reached my clit. “Oh, fuck yeah, don’t stop.” He licked circles around my clit, quickening his tongue’s tempo until I came. I kept sucking his cock, gagging the first time but then taking his entire length into my mouth. We moved out of a 69 position. The bed was big enough that the officer could kneel and I could lie in front of him. I resumed my foot job as I took Ken’s cock into my mouth, tasting his delicious pre-cum as his cockhead pulsed on my tongue.

The officer put on a condom and, spreading my long legs, he used his right hand to run his cockhead slowly up and down my pussy. I moaned as he penetrated me, thrusting powerfully as he raised my left foot to his mouth and sucked it. I tilted my head back slightly, swirling my tongue around Ken’s shaft and taking all of his dick inside my mouth. He moaned loudly and sent a load of thick cum down my throat. The taste was pungent.

The officer and Ken alternated fucking me hard. When one was pumping me, I gave the other a foot job or sucked his cock, soaked with my pussy juice. The three of us had multiple orgasms, the ecstasy rising and washing over us as we reveled in our desires. I fed their fetishes -- for women’s feet, pantyhose and latex. They fed me their white-hot masculine passion.

When we were sated, we slept, me in the middle of my studs; awakening to blue skies and bluebirds singing. The officer made a large breakfast and told us about the home of his paternal grandparents, long deceased. After we ate, he said he needed to get to work. As Ken headed for his car, I lingered for a moment. “Thank you for everything,” I told the officer.

“I’ll never forget it, but it also never happened,” he said, slipping a scrap of paper into my hand and telling me not to look at it until later. He kissed me good-bye. Ken didn’t see it.

When we returned to my suite, I apologized again to Ken.

“No need; we dodged a bullet. I’d do it again if I had the chance,” he said warmly.

Ken thanked me for saving him from arrest. “I was watching my career die in front of my eyes.”

“Well, I was on the hook too, remember; public indecency,” I said. “Lewdness is my middle name.”

Ken laughed. We had passionate sex in the bathtub, lovingly washing each other’s bodies. Afterwards, as we enjoyed a glass of wine, my husband texted me again. I didn’t reply. I felt so close to my young lover and didn’t want that feeling to be interrupted. Later, as our third and final night in Vegas began to unfold, Ken decided to take a swim and hang out at the pool bar with Thomas. I said I’d meet up with them in a few hours. Remembering the scrap of paper the officer gave me, I opened it to find his phone number.

Perhaps another fling, maybe one he won’t have to act like it never happened?

There was a knock on the door. Through the peephole, I saw it was the Englishman who had complimented me on my latex skirt. I also had seen him, alone, at the blackjack table. I was intrigued and puzzled that our paths potentially were crossing for the third time. He also was with a woman my age, a brunette in a black bodycon miniskirt dress which laced up the side and back.

Ken wanted to go dancing that night and I was trying on some dresses. Standing at the door, I wore a green velvet bra with a cross pendant and matching panties with black lace trim, my favorite brand of pantyhose and thigh-high black leather boots with a stiletto heel. I had borrowed them from Kelsey.

I could see the Englishman was walking away, the brunette behind him. I didn’t have time to put on anything over my lingerie.

I opened the door, took a step into the hallway…


To be continued if there is interest…

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